


lost and found (and lost again)

by magpieCastiel



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Blood and Violence, Established Relationship, M/M, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 07:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30068640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpieCastiel/pseuds/magpieCastiel
Summary: When Keith wakes up in an unknown desert, without any memory of how he got there, he’s only sure of one thing: the superhero watching over him can’t be trusted.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	lost and found (and lost again)

**Author's Note:**

> my piece for the [Lionhearted Zine](https://twitter.com/herosheithzine), a sheith zine featuring our boys as superheroes! this was inspired by young justice, more specifically episode 1x09, where the team loses all memory of the last six months and some……interesting things come to light :3c

_TWELVE HOURS AGO_

_“Be careful out there, Red.”_

_Shiro’s hand—the flesh hand, solid and warm—curls around Keith’s shoulder. Keith looks up, leans closer, smiles small and slow at the serious set of Shiro’s mouth. In the dark of the desert, the biolights of his cyborg half softly illuminate each hard angle in his face._

_“I’ll be fine, Paladin,” Keith says, and Shiro’s fingers press tight enough to bruise._

_It lingers between them, tension pulling tight enough that Keith’s tempted to lean in and press their mouths together. He doesn’t, and eventually Shiro steps away, turning towards the rest of the team to give them orders._

_They have a mission to complete. Keith’ll kiss him when they’ve won._

* * *

The first thing Keith notices is the heat.

Blistering, dry heat, soaking him in sweat. His hair sticks to his temples, his clothes clinging to his skin. Each breath tastes like dirt and sand and fills Keith’s lungs with heavy air. Dryness burns like sandpaper in Keith’s throat.

The ground underneath him is hard. Keith presses a hand against it, drags his fingertips over its surface slow enough that anyone who might be watching him wouldn’t notice. He feels the grooves of wood against his fingernails, lined with rough sand. So he’s inside. Somewhere with a window or an opening, going by the sunlight pouring over his face and colouring the backs of his eyelids a bright, blinding red.

Keith opens his eyes in a squint, gaze flicking over his surroundings through the haze of his lashes. Small room, all wood, holes in the ceiling letting in sunlight and a vivid blue sky. Outside the open doorway stretches a sea of pale brown. A desert?

What the hell’s he doing in a desert?

“You’re awake,” a voice cuts through Keith’s thoughts. Soft and solid, filled with a distant sort of relief. Familiar.

In a second Keith’s up, half-crouched and facing the voice with a throwing knife in his hand. His breath rattles in his throat.

“Woah, hey,” the voice says again, hands raised—trying to placate Keith, trying to calm him down. Trying to seem non-threatening. But Keith’d recognize that face anywhere. Takashi Shirogane, twenty-one years old, marine-turned-superhero after being forcibly bonded with alien nanotechnology. Broad shoulders, cyborg arm, gunmetal-grey eyes. Dangerous.

Keith glances around, keeping Shirogane in his periphery. They’re in a wooden shack that’s falling apart, empty except for a few personal effects that’ve been coated in dust and sand. Long-abandoned.

“It’s okay,” Shirogane’s saying, calm and collected. He’s sitting with his back up against the wall, long legs stretched out in front of him. He doesn’t seem particularly dangerous at the moment. Keith knows better than anyone how easily that can change. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to get us out of this…” He glances around, eyes narrowing. “Whatever _this_ is.”

Keith bares his teeth. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Shirogane smiles at him. It’s a perfect smile, the kind Keith’s seen him give to terrified victims on newscasts. Keith hates him for it. “I don’t know what’s going on any more than you do.”

“What?” Panic thumps like a heartbeat in Keith’s chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I woke up a few minutes ago,” Shirogane says, “and I have no idea how I got here, or where here even is.” He smiles again. This one’s lopsided, almost endearing. “I was hoping you might know, actually.”

Keith shakes his head. “I don’t,” he says gruffly, gripping his throwing knife too tightly. There’s an itch under his skin, a desperate need to throw it at something.

He’s woken up with no memories of how he got here. He doesn’t even remember what he last remembers. Everything’s blurred in his head. He’s here with a superhero, and he’s dressed in—Keith glances down at himself, a sick feeling churning in his gut—some skintight black and red outfit that he’s never seen before. And the heat’s starting to make him feel lightheaded, almost ill, almost like he’s about to collapse.

It’s gotta be a test. It’s gotta be his mom.

Problem is Keith doesn’t know what result she’s looking for.

He glances around again, searching for hidden cameras or a hideaway she might be watching from. Nothing’s around them but wooden walls and endless desert. Keith narrows his eyes and settles into a more comfortable crouch.

“So, what should I call you?”

“ _What_?”

“You don’t have to give me your name,” Shirogane says placatingly, another disarming smile spread across his face. “But I’ve never seen you before. Do you have an alias? Something I can call you by?”

 _I’m not a superhero_ , Keith thinks almost viciously.

“Red,” he says, after a second of thinking. It’s simple enough. Not recognizable. And it’s his callsign on jobs with Krolia; he knows he’ll respond to it. “I’m Red.”

“I’m Paladin,” Shirogane says. “But you can call me Shiro.”

He doesn’t offer his hand, and Keith’s grateful. He’s not getting any closer to Shirogane than he has to. Not with hours of footage branded into his brain, the knowledge of exactly what Shirogane’s cyborg parts are capable of.

Then Shirogane’s head snaps up, right eye cycling with gold like a processing computer. “Did you hear that?” 

All at once he stands to his full height. Keith’s stomach flips, twists into knots, and he stands a second later and half-steps back. Shirogane’s presence somehow takes up the entire room, a steady, unrelenting pressure pushing on Keith’s skin. Shirogane’s barely paying attention to him, head cocked as he listens for something Keith can’t hear, his expression sharpened into severe angles and hard lines.

“It’s…” His brow furrows, eyes narrowing. Then his eyes widen. “Red, look out—!”

Keith hears the whistle of a missile seconds before it matters. Then Shirogane’s crashing into him, knocking him to the ground and smothering him with the bulk of his body—then Keith’s engulfed in an explosion of scorching heat and roaring sound—then Shirogane’s curling even tighter around him, until Keith’s senses are filled with nothing but _him_ —

* * *

_SIX MONTHS AGO_

_The team isn’t what Keith expected. He’s seen the footage of them working together seamlessly in combat, of their well-spoken leader and second-in-command talking to the press. He knows they’re a handful of mostly-teenagers around his age, but he grew up faster than anyone around him. Maybe he assumed it’d be the same for them._

_“Call me Lance,” Aqualad says with a grin, presenting his webbed hand for Keith to shake. He leans in conspiratorially close, thin brows waggling. “If you want the lowdown on the team, you can just turn to your buddy Lance—”_

_“Yeah, right.” That’s Pigeon, the little technokinetic with oversized goggles and a high-tech flightsuit—called Pidge by the rest of the team._

_She looks younger in person. Even smaller. It doesn’t stop her from smacking Lance upside the head._

_Keith stifles a laugh, mouth twitching in a grin. He likes her already._

_“Both of you, cut it out.” The de-facto leader of the team. Paladin. Known to the public as Takashi Shirogane, known to the team as Shiro. An ex-marine fused with alien nanotechnology. He’s broad-shouldered and tall, with a sharp jawline and a careful, gunmetal gaze. A gaze that lands on Keith and softens into a smile. “Welcome to the team, Red.”_

_When he offers his cyborg hand to shake, Keith takes it. The metal’s warm, smooth against his fingertips. It dwarfs Keith’s slender, bony hand entirely._

_“You’ve met Lance and Pidge,” Shiro says, his voice warm and liquid. He sounds different from the clips Keith’s seen of him. More settled, more relaxed. “This is Allura,” he gestures to the Princess of Altea, the alien with snow-white hair and the most powerful telekinesis Keith’s ever known, “and Hunk.” This time, he sweeps his hand in the direction of Blink. Keith knows he can teleport, knows from his size he can hold his own in a fight._

_They’re all in casual clothes. All without masks. They’ve never even met him, and they’re giving him their most dangerous secret without a second thought._

_It makes Keith nervous._

_“Call me Red.”_

_“Aw, c’mon—”_

_“Lance.” Lance’s mouth snaps shut the second Shiro’s said it, eyes flashing in Shiro’s direction. “He doesn’t have to give us his name. Trust is earned.”_

_Keith knows that better than anybody._

_“Regardless, Red,” Shiro says, and his full attention’s back on Keith. Keith almost feels himself buckling under it. Almost feels himself aching to rise onto the tips of his toes and push against Shiro’s intensity, just to feel him push back. His stomach twists when Shiro smiles. “It’s good to have you on the team.”_

_“It’s good to be here,” Keith says, and he might just mean it._

* * *

Keith coughs around a mouthful of dust and sand, his ears ringing painfully. Around him, he feels a strange energy shift and change, feels it flickering like an electric charge. Like lightning in the air. He opens his eyes in time to see the bubble of purple energy trapping him and Shirogane against the ground flicker and die—in time to see Shirogane’s golden cyborg eye fade back to grey.

Then Shirogane collapses. He crushes Keith beneath his weight, thick thigh lodged between Keith’s, arms braced around his head.

Uncomfortable heat blazes in Keith’s belly. “Get off me,” he hisses, shoving at Shirogane’s bulk. Shirogane doesn’t move. Keith feels his cheeks burning, feels panic rising in his dry, gritty throat as he remembers the situation. “Shirogane, get off, we have to—”

Shirogane twitches. Something mechanical whirs in his body, like the hum of an overworked computer. His cyborg parts warm the air between them until Keith’s gasping on it.

Then he lifts himself up, hovering inches above Keith’s face, eyes wide and searching. “Are you okay?”

Keith shoves him again. This time Shirogane goes with it. He rolls off and into a crouch, leaving Keith enough space to push himself up onto his elbows, to catch his breath a little now that Shirogane’s not pressing him into the floor. His whole body aches; a dull, visceral pain humming through his entire body, pulsing with his heartbeat. Even his head is pounding. Keith blinks away the searing pain of sunlight on his eyes, glancing at their new surroundings through the smoke still swirling around them.

The little wooden shack is...gone. Completely destroyed. All that surrounds them is charred wood and fire-scorched sand, blown away from them like they’re the epicenter of an impact. Fire still flickers on the more solid chunks of wood, choking the air with smoke.

Shit. Whoever shot at them was aiming to kill. Would have succeeded, if Shirogane didn’t have shields.

Maybe this isn’t Keith’s mom after all.

Then Keith sees it. A military tank cresting the peak of a sand dune, surrounded by a handful of buggies filled with armed soldiers—all barrelling toward them. Guns raised, ready to fire.

He doesn’t recognize the military uniforms. Definitely not his mom.

Shirogane must notice the soldiers too. Because suddenly he’s on his feet, stepping in front of Keith, the violet biolights on his cyborg limbs glowing brighter. His stance is protective, spread legs and broad shoulders and muscles tensed for combat, and the heat curls even deeper into the pit of Keith’s gut. “Get out of here, Red,” Shirogane says, the command sure and decisive, all that military training bleeding through. A shiver runs down Keith’s spine. “I’ll take care of this—you need to get to safety.”

Keith bristles. He wants to get up and shove against Shirogane’s authority, prove himself and his skills. He’s been doing this longer than Shirogane has. He’s been training since he was a little kid, under the tutelage of the best the Galra Collective has to offer. Shirogane’s just some marine who’s only alive because alien technology decided he’d be a good enough host.

He scrambles to his feet, ignoring the soreness in his hips. A quick patdown of his body and this weird, skin-tight suit tells him he’s got everything he needs. However he got here, he’s clearly prepared for a fight.

“Red?” Shirogane glances at him, as Keith comes to stand beside him. Concern—and curiosity—fill his eyes. “You should get out of here.”

Keith scowls at him, barely manages to keep from baring his teeth. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Then, just as the soldiers are getting too close for comfort, Keith throws a smoke grenade into their midst.

It explodes in a cacophony of gunfire and shouting. Keith slips into the chaos. He follows the glowing heat signatures filtering through his mask to a buggy, prowling low to the ground.

He pulls the driver out first, knocks him out before he can shout, dodges wild gunfire and slips around to the side. The next two go easy—snapped necks—and Keith sneaks up behind the last one while he’s spinning around, trying to find whatever’s killing his comrades. Keith gets him with a knife across the throat, then steals the guy’s gun while he’s falling and puts a mercy bullet between his eyes before his back’s on the ground.

Behind him he hears the crunch of metal. Hopefully it’s the tank going down and not Shirogane.

The rest of it is easy. Methodical. Keith tosses another grenade, closes his eyes and covers his ears while it explodes with a flash of light. He takes down another buggy of soldiers with five well-placed shots while they’re still scrambling for their weapons.

Then it’s all quiet. No more shouting, no more bullets firing. The smoke starts to clear.

“Red?”

Keith doesn’t turn. He waits until the smoke’s fully gone, eyes roving over the battlefield he’s left behind. All ten dead. Nobody suffering, nobody about to get the drop on him.

His eyes catch on the soldier with the slit throat. Blood pools around him, staining the sand, soaking through his fatigues. His eyes are wide, his mouth still contorted in a strangled grimace.

Bile rises in Keith’s throat. He swallows it back down.

“Red, are you—” Shirogane’s voice breaks off. Finally Keith turns, tearing his eyes away from the dead soldier, and sees Shirogane staring at the bodies behind him instead. He must be used to dead bodies by now, but his eyes are still wide, face gaunt and haunted. His gaze flicks back to Keith. “Did you...did you do this?”

He doesn’t owe Shirogane any explanation. His chest tightens at the look in Shirogane’s eyes.

“Who are you?”

Keith should kill him. Erase any evidence. Nobody’s supposed to even know he exists.

Instead, he throws his last grenade at Shirogane’s feet. It explodes in a cloud of thick black smoke.

Keith dives into one of the buggies, turns the key, and skids away in a spray of sand and blood before the smoke’s even begun to clear.

* * *

_TWO MONTHS AGO_

_Smoke and dust whirl around Keith where he’s sprawled against a wall. Choking, coughing, he waves it away with his one good arm, the other clutched tightly against his chest._

_It doesn’t hurt anymore. He’s not sure that’s a good thing. Mostly, his whole body feels numb; ringing in his ears, humming like static electricity just under his skin. His breathing’s still a bit laboured, and Keith hopes he hasn’t broken another rib._

_It sucks, being the only non-powered hero on the team._

_“Red?”_

_Keith blinks behind the whites of his mask, peering into the cloud of smoke still rising from the epicentre of the explosion. He doesn’t see movement._

_“Red!”_

_That’s...Shiro’s voice. Distant and quiet, especially through the heartbeat rushing in Keith’s ears._

_Relief floods Keith’s body like endorphins. Last he saw Shiro, his cyborg hand was punched into the console that used to be at the centre of this underground lab. Then everything exploded, Keith got thrown into the wall, and the second his head hit concrete everything went black. It’s probably only been minutes since that happened, with the smoke still lingering._

_He’s glad Shiro’s okay. The thought makes his heart beat faster, makes his stomach leap into his throat, but it’s true._

_“Red, where are you?”_

_Keith coughs, choking on thick, ashy smoke. “Here,” he croaks. His throat is ash-dry and aching, the word barely forced through. He tastes blood when he swallows, wetting his lips and tasting the hot, coppery split on his lower lip. “M’here, Paladin,” he calls, and this time his voice carries a little further._

_Moments later he sees the shadow of Shiro’s body; broad shoulders, long legs, biolights filtering softly through the smoke._

_He approaches, and Keith sees for the first time that half his right arm is missing. It’s already starting to repair itself, nanites constructing the internal structures of the cyborg arm as Shiro marches through the smoke, but it makes Keith nauseous anyway. He tears his eyes away from the damage, up to Shiro’s face._

_“Red,” Shiro says, and his voice is breathless, his eyes shining with something that clenches in Keith’s gut. “You’re okay.”_

_Keith swallows, shifting his injured shoulder. “Yeah.”_

_He’s expecting Shiro to offer him a hand up, maybe crouch in front of him to look him over. He’s not expecting Shiro to fall to his knees. The metal half of his body thuds against the concrete ground, breath escaping his lungs in a gasp when he lands. Dust and ash cloud up around them, catching the lights flickering from Shiro’s cyborg parts._

_“Shi—Paladin. Are you okay?”_

_A breathless laugh slips between Shiro’s lips. “I’m okay, I’m okay. I’m just…” His gaze traces up Keith’s body, lingers at his arm and his throat, flutters up over his face like gentle fingertips. His eyes are dark, magnetic, a pool of mercury that Keith’s suddenly drowning in. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I thought I lost you.”_

_Affection and guilt clench tight in Keith’s chest. He doesn’t even think about it before he’s curling his uninjured hand around Shiro’s cyborg bicep. It hums against his skin, overwarm and overworked as it puts itself back together._

_The moment is frozen between them. Keith’s hand on Shiro’s arm, Shiro’s gaze on Keith’s mouth._

_Keith doesn’t know who leans in first. Maybe they both do, or maybe it doesn’t matter. All he knows is the warmth singing in his blood when Shiro’s soft lips press against his own, and the weight of Shiro’s flesh hand curling around the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his hair._

* * *

As soon as he’s far enough that he knows Shirogane won’t follow him, Keith pulls the buggy to a stop behind a rocky red outcropping. His sweaty hands slip off the steering wheel, hair clinging to his temples as he hangs his head forward. His heart’s pounding like he’s just run a marathon, his lungs aching from breathing in the dry desert air. It’s like the year he spent training with his father in the desert. Before the Galra Collective decided he was dead weight and needed to be cut loose.

Keith stares at his pale hands, stained red, crusted with dried, flaky blood.

How did he get here? Why can’t he remember? And why the hell did he wake up with Shirogane, the textbook definition of a superhero?

It doesn’t make any sense. It’s gotta be his mom, somehow, even though it doesn’t seem like her style. Krolia’s always given him clear instructions on every job he’s done. Even when it’s a job she’s sprung on him last minute. Maybe it’s the Galra Collective themselves, sending Keith on a mysterious mission without any details. 

Or maybe he’s being cut loose too. His fists clench, knuckles white.

Okay. He needs to come up with a plan. He’s in an unknown desert, being hunted by an unknown military, with no memory of how he got here. No hints about what he’s supposed to do here, no idea where to go next. And he’s been put into some skintight spandex suit like he’s a fucking superhero.

His head hurts just thinking about it.

“C’mon,” Keith snarls under his breath, gritting his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. Even in the shade, the heat’s starting to melt him. “Think.”

He needs to find a way out of this desert. Or at least find somewhere he can make contact with his mom, even if it’s just through a payphone. Then at least he’ll have _some_ idea what’s going on.

Keith nods. He wipes his sweaty hands off on his thighs. Then he grips the steering wheel with one white-knuckled hand and the gear shift with the other, ready to peel out and ride until he finds anything other than sand and stone.

“Keith?”

He freezes.

“Keith, is that you?”

It’s a woman’s voice, accented, soft but strong as it carries across the desert. And familiar. Keith recognizes it from news reports.

He grabs his dagger, holding it against his side. Concealing it from view. Then he peers out from the buggy in the direction of the voice, his foot tensed over the gas pedal.

The Princess of Altea floats toward him, her cloud-white hair streaming out behind her, sparkling with whatever alien magic her telekinesis is powered by. She touches down gently on the sand a few feet from Keith’s buggy, her eyes wide and filled with concern, a relieved smile touching the corners of her mouth. Keith’s grip on his dagger tightens. He knows how dangerous she is. More powerful than almost everyone in the Galra Collective, with untapped potential even she doesn’t know about.

“Oh, Keith,” she murmurs, stepping closer. Everything about her is delicate. The way she walks, the way her hair floats around her like a nebula of stars, the crinkling at the corners of her eyes. “I’m glad I found you—I’ve been searching for everyone for hours, and they’re nowhere to be found. I was worried something awful happened.”

“How do you know my name?”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“My _name_.” Keith grits his teeth, angles his dagger, tenses his body to attack. He’s outmatched here, but if he’s fast enough—

“You told us your name,” the Princess says, careful but still certain. She speaks with all the authority Keith would expect from royalty. It pisses him off. “Two weeks ago, you told the whole team your name.”

 _Team_? “I don’t know who you are.”

The Princess’s eyes soften. “Do you remember how you got here? Or even where _here_ is?”

Keith’s head hurts. He doesn’t like how much she seems to know. _Telepath_ , his mind supplies, in the stern, instructive voice of his mother. _She’s playing mind games with you_.

“You’re part of Team Voltron,” the Princess says. “You joined us six months ago. Two weeks ago, you finally told us your name.” She smiles, almost fondly, before the expression drops from her face. “And twelve hours ago, when we were sent into this desert to track extraterrestrial technology signals, we were attacked by a powerful telepath. He must have wiped our memories from the past six months, at least, but I managed to get mine back. I can return yours, too.”

Pain thuds in Keith’s head like a ticking clock. He winces, clenches his jaw. “You’re wrong.”

“Let me help you, Keith—”

“And how the hell do you know my name?”

“I told you; you told all of us. Myself, Lance, Pidge, Hunk, and—well, Shiro already knew.” Her smile is sincere, her eyes earnest. “Please, Keith. I can show you everything if you let me in.”

It can’t be true. Keith’s part of the Galra Collective, and he’d never give that up for some team of teenage superheroes. He knows where his loyalties lie.

But...his head is aching. And something in him—something instinctive—tells him to trust her.

Keith’s always trusted his instincts.

The Princess holds out her slender hands, palm up. “Please,” she says again.

Keith puts his hands in hers. She curls her long, delicate fingers around his, smiles—and everything explodes in a scatter of stars, opening up to a yawning chasm of black. The pressure in Keith’s skull increases, sharper and sharper, until—

It cracks open.

* * *

_THREE WEEKS AGO_

_“My name is Keith.”_

_Keith doesn’t know why he says it. It’s not how he imagined—it’s not a moment of triumph after the defeat of an all-powerful villain, or the quiet seconds before a hopeless last stand they’ll never survive. It’s in the Team Voltron HQ, in Shiro’s bedroom, half-watching some baking show while Keith curls against Shiro’s side with his mask covering his eyes. The closest they’ve come to a normal date._

_Shiro tenses under him. The hand playing in Keith’s long hair stills. Keith hears the thud of Shiro’s heartbeat against his ear, the way it stutters and quickens._

_“I…”_

_Swallowing, Keith pretends his hands aren’t shaking as he rolls onto his stomach. He braces a hand on Shiro’s chest, lifts himself up to look Shiro in the eyes. Shiro’s eyes are wide, his tongue darting out to wet his lips the longer Keith stares at him. It aches somewhere deep in Keith’s chest, even just staring at him like this._

_Keith’s terrified, but he isn’t a coward. He balances himself on one elbow, reaches up with the other hand. Peels his mask off his face._

_“My name’s Keith,” he says again, pouring everything he has into his eyes—the devotion, the trust, all the terror he’s trying to hide._

_“Keith,” Shiro murmurs. Keith shivers at the sound of his name in Shiro’s mouth. “Why…?”_

_All or nothing. Keith bites the inside of his cheek, breathing in deep to settle the racing of his heart. He lets out a long, slow exhale. “I wanted you to know,” he says, his voice rough, “because I love you.”_

* * *

Shiro’s in a fight when they find him. Keith shouts at Allura to drop him, lands in a roll and gets right back on his feet, sprinting into the action with only one thought screaming through his mind.

 _Protect Shiro_.

He takes down one soldier, then another, leaving them groaning on the sand. Not dead. To his right, Allura smashes two soldiers together then flings them into a third. Ahead of him, Shiro punches a soldier, flings another off his back when he tries to grab Shiro in a chokehold. Keith counts up the enemies between him and Shiro and doesn’t even bother making a plan before sprinting in Shiro’s direction.

It doesn’t take long before the troupe is dealt with. Allura puts them all to sleep once they’re subdued, then floats them into a patch of shade, biting the inside of her cheek as sweat drips down her temples.

She’s probably exerted herself a lot today. Remembering, helping Keith remember. Flying him over here.

Worry tightens Keith’s chest. He breathes in deep, trying to fill his lungs despite the pressing ache around his ribs. 

Shiro looks surprised to see him, maybe even a little wary. Keith can’t blame him. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to look at Shiro, and see nothing of the man he knows looking back at him. To Shiro, Keith’s just a deadly stranger.

Then Allura explains the situation, briefly, and Shiro agrees right away to let her in.

Keith watches as Shiro’s eyes roll back in his head. He stands back, hands clenching into fists, as Shiro sways on his feet. Keith’s nerves are bitter on the back of his tongue as he waits helplessly for the man he loves to come back to him.

Shiro opens his eyes. His gaze immediately finds Keith. And he smiles, so big and bright that Keith’s blinded by it.

“Keith,” he says, his voice overflowing with emotion that makes Keith’s knees weak—relief, protectiveness, _love_. Keith barely feels himself moving before he’s launching himself into Shiro’s arms, burying his face in the crook of Shiro’s neck and breathing him in, letting the tension drain from his body because he’s _home_. Arms wrap around Keith’s back, one flesh and one solid metal, trapping him against Shiro’s chest so tightly he can’t breathe. Keith can’t believe he ever forgot how this felt.

“It’s good to have you back,” he chokes into Shiro’s throat.

Shiro’s arms tighten. His metal hand winds into Keith’s hair, fingers dragging sparks over Keith’s scalp. “It’s good to be back.” Eventually they step apart. Shiro smiles down at him, his hands still a heavy, comforting weight on Keith’s shoulders. “I missed you.”

Keith smiles back. Guilt gnaws at him from the inside.

When they get back home, after they’ve rescued their friends and finished this mission, Keith will tell Shiro where he comes from. 

He’ll tell him everything.

* * *

_SEVEN MONTHS AGO_

_Keith stares at the holoscreen. A pair of cool, gunmetal-grey eyes stare back._

_It’s a face anyone would recognize. Takashi Shirogane, twenty-one years old, marine-turned-superhero after being forcibly bonded with alien nanotechnology. Keith’s known of him since he emerged on the hero scene a year ago, kept tabs on him the way he always has for every superhero worth paying attention to._

_“It’s simple,” his mother says simply, leaning over Keith’s shoulder, a hand braced on the back of his chair. “Team Voltron is becoming more prominent. The Galra Collective need someone on the inside.”_

_Keith nods._

_“Infiltrate the team,” Krolia instructs, her voice hard and decisive. “Get close to Shirogane. And when I need you, I’ll call on you.”_

_Another nod. “I’ll do it.”_

_He stares into Shirogane’s flinty eyes, running over his combat stats in his head, replaying footage of Team Voltron’s fights just behind his eyes. They’re young, but they’re a dangerous group. Really only just getting started as superheroes._

_‘Get close to Shirogane’, Krolia said. Keith will have to be careful._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! find me on twitter [@magpiecastiel](https://twitter.com/magpiecastiel)


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